


Not Exactly Under The Weather

by Dreamin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Prompt Fill, TAB Victorian, pregnancy reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamin/pseuds/Dreamin
Summary: Sherlock has to figure out what disease Molly has. She knows, John knows, even Mycroft knows, but Sherlock has to deduce it.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	Not Exactly Under The Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts), [SimplyShelbs16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/gifts).



> Inspired by a Flufftober prompt from MizJoely -- "quicksilver." (Yes, I'm a day late, it was a busy month.)
> 
> For MizJoely and SimplyShelbs16 (who's under the weather).

“Don’t come back until you can actually be of use,” Sherlock said irritably to the back of his best friend’s head as the man headed for the stairs. Watson’s snickering was loud and clear, and Sherlock ignored that too. Huffing in annoyance, the world’s only consulting detective went back to the bedroom.

Molly, his wife of almost two years, was sitting up in bed, leaning against every pillow they owned in his effort to make her more comfortable. She had her knees drawn up and her arms rested on them as she grinned at him. “You really can be a child sometimes, Sherlock.” There was nothing but the gentlest of teasing in her voice.

He pouted, something he knew wouldn’t refute her statement, but he couldn’t help it. “Watson refused to tell me the diagnosis, on your orders. My wife and my friend are conspiring against me.”

“Hardly,” she said, her chocolate brown eyes dancing. “He left the decision to tell you up to me, and I think it would be better if you deduced it.”

His irritation vanished at the thought of a puzzle to unravel. “Well, since you put it that way…” Taking the stethoscope Molly had used on him more than once, Sherlock used it to listen to her lungs through her white cotton nightdress. They sounded clear, so he fetched the thermometer. “Open up,” he said, smiling a bit.

Molly grinned at him before opening her mouth and he slipped the thermometer under her tongue. After the required wait, he removed the thermometer and frowned. The mercury hadn’t risen nearly as high as he thought it would.

“You’re not feverish.”

Molly rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I could have told you that, darling.”

“Well, _something_ is causing your nausea every morning.” As he pondered the situation, there was a knock on the bedroom door. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Your brother’s here, I suggest you see what he wants before he eats all the biscuits I made for tea.”

Sherlock grinned wickedly. Since his wedding to Anthea, his older brother had lost the excess weight he’d gained but he still had quite the sweet tooth. “An excellent idea, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll be right there.”

Molly smirked. “Maybe Mycroft can give you some insight.”

“I highly doubt it,” he muttered, then he bent to kiss her hair before leaving the room.

Mycroft was, indeed, helping himself to a biscuit to go with his cup of tea. “Sherlock. Where is your better half?”

“Molly’s indisposed at the moment.”

“Give her my sympathies, then.”

“I will.” He flopped overdramatically onto the settee. “She knows what’s wrong. Watson knows what’s wrong. She expects me to deduce it.”

Mycroft smirked. “Does she, now? What are her symptoms?”

“She is veritably green every morning, she can’t keep anything down until at least lunchtime. No fever, nothing in her lungs.”

His older brother chuckled. “Anthea is in the same state.”

Sherlock sat up and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “It’s contagious?”

Mycroft flashed him a grin. “Oh, yes, but your wife didn’t catch it from mine.”

“Then who did she catch it from?”

“You, little brother.” He rose, chuckling over Sherlock’s utter confusion. “I should go, I just wanted to tell you the good news.”

“What good news? You haven’t told me anything except that Anthea is ill.”

“I told you that Anthea has the same condition as Molly. Good day, Sherlock. Try not to drive your wife to distraction, she needs her rest. I’ll see myself out.” Mycroft left, snickering much the same as Watson had.

Sherlock groaned in frustration then went back to the bedroom.

Molly grinned at him. “How is your brother?”

“Frustrating, as usual.” He flopped into his chair by the window. “He claims to know what’s wrong with you, since he says Anthea has the same condition, but he refuses to elaborate. He even had the gall to say you caught this disease from me.”

She giggled. “Oh, Sherlock, can you truly not see it? Think, love. I’m nauseous in the morning but I show no other signs of being ill. I haven’t menstruated this month.” She grinned. “When you consider how often you and I demonstrate our love physically, I’m surprised it took this long.”

Finally, it all came together in his head. Sherlock stared at her. “You mean you’re … that we’re…”

“I’m pregnant, Sherlock,” she murmured. “We’re going to have a baby.”

He was at her side and pulling her into the gentlest embrace in an instant. She laid her head on his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

Once his head stopped swimming, he grinned. “If nothing else, I know our child is bound to be adorable, certainly more than Mycroft and Anthea’s.”

“Behave, Sherlock,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “If I recall, misbehaving in the sitting room is how we found ourselves in this situation.”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance of that.”

“You’ve read my mind, Dr. Holmes.”


End file.
